The itinerant on foot

Introduction

Christian Biography is a rich treasure. It magnifies the grace of Christ, reveals the precious offices of the Holy Spirit, and demonstrates the unrivaled potency of evangelical religion. It furnishes varied and lofty themes for the intelligent student, and may well engage the profound thought of the true philosopher. It charms the devout mind, relieves the doubting and perplexed, cheers the solitary, conforts the afflicted, and inspirits the disheartened, among Christ's followers. Every page is resplendent with unearthly attractions.

The arrest of the guilty soul by the Eternal Spirit's almighty grip — the agony, tears, and pleadings of penitence at Mercy's Throne — the triumphal passage of the strait gate, and the joyous entrance upon the narrow way of eternal life — the grand developments of character in the pilgrimage heavenward — and the ultimate entrance upon the bliss of immortal destiny — these are among its munificent contributions to the realm of evangelical literature. The Church should prize, immeasurably, these gifts of the rolling years of Christian history. The burning pages, glowing with divine love, should be scattered broadcast — to illumine, beautify, and empower. It would be a measureless disaster if the "Satanic press," with its myriad vile emanations, should supplant the pure and elevating communications of the religious press. The study of God's ambassador, the Sabbath School Library, and the parlor tables of God's people, should teem with these productions. God's luminous and ineffaceable signature has been upon iv

INTRODUCTION.

them in all the ages of Christianity. Let the li r e-annals of God's heroes, then, have the right of way — a revival of holy literature is one of the great needs of the times.

A brief word respecting the present volume will suffice. It modestly presents its claims to the public favor, especially of the lovers of Jesus. Its author is well known, as a reputable member of the "Newark," formerly of the ' ' New Jersey Annual Conference, of the Methodist Episcopal Church." And, by quite extended public labors, and contributions to the religious press, many beyond his immediate ministerial connections have become familiar with his name and enshrined him in their hearts.

The narrative of these passages is startling and impressive. It furnishes an argument in favor of the divine orgin and transforming energy of Christianity, which neither Satanic subtlety, nor human sophistry can overthrow.

The rescue from infidel darkness and thraldom, as here given, is marvelous. Deep, thorough, all-comprehensive repentance — a palpable, jo3^ous, triumphant conversion — after-life full of the sunshine from heaven — are the subjects presented. Brother Scarlett commenced his Christian career in sunshine, emphatically so — his life has been passed in the beauteous rays of the 11 Sun of righteousness " — and he will ere long die in sunshine, without an intervening cloud. Now, with the impress of almost eighty years upon his brow, his face is "bright with borrowed rays divine." His feet stand firmly on the Rock of Ages. The subject of his hourly converse is, " Jesus only" — Jesus and His mighty love. The verities which are eternal fill the whole compass of his vision.

My acquaintance with him began in 1844, at the time of my admission into the New Jersey Conference — then, the golden links of a true, life-long Christian love were riveted. It is a joy to be near him on earth — it will be joy unutterable to be with him in heaven, — which may God grant for Jesus' sake ! The book is sent forth in praj^er and faith, and in the hope that it will bear blessing, far and wide, long after its author sleeps with Jesus.

GEO. HUGHES.

Preface

The following pages were not written with a sensational purpose, nor to excite to deeds of ignoble strife. They do not contain tales of shuddering horror, pictures of blood-drops staining bright and burnished steel — of deadly duel-fights, or on battle fields in war. They are a simple record of facts, incidents, experiences, and observations of busy memory's gathering up, through the course of a long and active life.

This volume contains original matter. It has been prepared with a motive to benefit the reader. The author was prompted to write his autobiography by the advice of numerous friends. The first and strongest incitement in this direction, he received in a letter vi

PREFACE.

from the late Mrs. Phoebe Palmer, by which she urged him to give to the world an account of his life.

This unadorned portraiture of his early life-scenes, and a walking itinerancy for many years, has features of both solemnity and cheerfulness — of tears, and smiles, and gladness. While it is designed to have no other tendency than such as leads to Christ and ' 1 pure religion," it may produce in the reader's mind, sometimes, emotions not in sympathy with gloomy associations. Why should faith in Jesus be draped in mourning? Some people look sour because they profess faith in Christ, and "have joined the Church." They would paint religion as a " Niobe, all tears." It is far otherwise, however, when rightly appreciated. Jesus instructs his followers to be "not of a sad countenance." Purity of heart should not distort the "human face divine."

May "The Itinerant on Foot" go on a message of mercy and "good will to men," is the sincere desire and prayer of

The Author.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Introduction by Rev. George Hughes 3

Author's Preface . 5

Chapter I. Infant Days And Early Memories

" Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth." — Eccles. xii. i.

Memory in man is a faculty of early development, and of rapid growth. In life's dewy morning it is pleasant in its exercise, and retentive in its grasp. With age, its light diminishes, and its wings realize decaying strength. This, if memory with the righteous should not survive the grave, in after-death realities, would be regretful.

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" For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?"

Things impressed upon the senses, during the tender years of childhood, are more vividly perceived and remembered than more important events seen, heard, and experienced in after life. Early ideas are remembered the longest.

"Time, but the impression stronger makes As streams their channels deeper wear."

On April 30th, 1803, in a rural, sequestered spot, Morris county, New Jersey, I first saw the light. Two years after, I was, with a younger brother, removed by my parents to Wanaque, Pompton township, Bergen county, in the same State. In this pleasant valley, with its romantic surroundings, I spent fifteen years of my young life. I was gifted by nature with a good memory, and can recall incidents that occurred when I was but three years of age. I have strong temptations to make record of trifling things, too insignificant for the public eye, yet, to me, pleasant to remember.

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II

My young life is pleasant, in my recollections, though excluded from every attraction that wealth could supply. In the midst of wooded scenery and wildness I found ravishing de- Light. I have always retained a fondness for the country. I had a fancy and liking for views of far-off mountains, hills, dales, glens, and gorges. Leafy trees, in summer, and fields of red clover, with their accompanying birds and bees, gave me unforgotten pleasure. These were photographed on my infant mind. I was charmed at the sight of a flowery meadow, or sunny landscape, although I did not know what to call them. The gentle slope, kissed by the morning sun — the green valleys and " lilies of the field" — the millions of pearly drops of morning dew, gave me emotions not to be described. The blossoming orchards in the sunlight — the fragrance of flowers — the passing shadows of summer clouds — the gurgling mountain-stream, and balmy zephyrs, that fanned my sun-burned face, I never can forget. I also had a keen sense of the ridiculous. This has never left me ; it abides with me still.

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My moral sensibilities were tender. I was the subject of the convictions of right and wrong at an early period. While quite young, I thought on God, and dreaded his displeasure. Do not children, in general, have spiritual impressions ? I was regarded by my parents as a truthful child ; yet, I sometimes deviated in my conduct from the line of honest-thinking and right words. Once, during a thunder-storm, the lightning struck near by, apparently, as it was followed quickly by a thunder-peal. I stated to my father that I saw the bolt strike the river before our door, causing the water to fly up. Now, I saw no such thing. I had no motive to deceive ; but my young imagination sought to cause in my father wonderment, concerning the elements. After that I feared the lightning, or God, who wrings it. Was it not Satanic influence on my fallen nature, inciting me, that gave my mind a bias against the love of truth, on that occasion ? The increased dread of thunder and lightning, giving me a fear of God, cannot be truly accounted for but by the acknowledgment of the operation of the Holy Spirit on my con-

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science Two opposite agencies strove with me : the one, heart-hardening, leading to sin ; the other, leading to penitence and the fear of God. My fallen nature was " prone to evil, as the sparks are to fly upward." Inbred sin drew down the moral and mental powers, and bound them to the animal propensities, and gave the carnal an ascendency over the spiritual. This is the case with all children, however favorable their situation on earth.

The experiences I realized during the years of my youth, have a tendency to confirm me in the firm faith I enjoy in the Gospel. The true teachings of the Word are needed, appropriate, and never misleading. Children are both fallen and redeemed. They are subject to Satanic influence, and the strivings of grace. They are indebted to grace, for good desires ; and temptations to sin are from the devil. These truths of "Holy Writ," should be taught them early.

My father was fond of children, and he took great pleasure in gratifying their innocent wishes as far as possible. His social qualities were attractive, His company was agreeable to

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the intelligent. He taught school the most of his life, in America. He was an Irishman. The young loved his society. He would play, at times of recess, with his scholars. He loved to narrate to attentive listeners the incidents met with in his travels. He was thought to be a real genial Irishman. After coming to this country and residing in the city of Philadelphia for a season, he went to Alexandria, Virginia, and was clerk for a Mr. Penrose, in a large establishment. Here, he saw George Washington, the father of his country, whom he greatly admired. The first piece of poetry he instructed me to commit to memory, to recite in school, was

Washington.

" O Washington ! thrice glorious name I What due reward can man decree ?

Empires are far below thy aim,

And scepters have no charms for thee ;

Virtue alone is thy regard,

And she shall be thy great reward !"

Washington, no doubt, w T as designed by Providence for the position he occupied and the

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*5 work he accomplished for the well-being of this Land of Freedom. Yet, the eulogy above is rather too high to award to mortal man. My father taught me wholesome lessons, profitably remembered in long-after life. I sometimes disobeyed him, to my hurt. I disliked to incur his displeasure. Once, during recess, I was amusing myself alone, as oft was my wont, sauntering carelessly about, a short distance from the school-house, I picked up a stone about the size of a black walnut, with the motive of testing my strength and skill, in throwing it over the highest branches of a wide-spreading tree. With ambition I watched its motion in a curving line until it fell on the opposite side. A lady unhappily stood where it fell ; and she was struck on the head, and stunned with the blow. I did not know she was there, or the stone would not have been hurled. Hidden by the branches of the tree, I did an unintentional wrong. When I saw her lying on the ground, thinking she was killed, I had great grief, and I was determined to confess the truth. The scholars, seeing the prostrate form of the injured lady, i6

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ran into the school-room ; and the most noted for mischief was accused of the deed. I hastened in, walking up directly to my father's desk, pulling off my jacket, the while, confessing the stone-throwing act, desiring chastisement of no boy but myself. I could not bear an innocent person to be punished for what I had done. My father looked at me, divested as I was for a thrashing, and his sympathy was kindled. Applying his handkerchief to his " dewy eyes," he said, "John, I cannot whip you; your honest behavior will not allow me." I was not punished ; and my father had increased confidence in me ; and this, also, increased my sense of obligation to do right in everything. It is good, if possible, to put confidence in the word of a child, and let him be aware of it. In a spiritual sen^e it is good for us sinners to be honest with God ; to take off all covering, as I did my jacket, and say to God, " I did it !" with an open, uncovered heart and conscience. Then, " if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness,"

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I contracted a fondness for reading while quite a small boy, and this habit has never left me. During winter nights, between the supperhour and bed-time, I read my book. I was not favored with the electric light, gas, or even candle light. A huge " back-log," "fore-stick," and a pile of dry wood and chips between them, afforded me light ; and I took advantage of the times. I love to think of those halcyon days. There I sat, a sun-burned urchin, on a block, sawed on purpose from the trunk of a tree, before the "olden time" fireplace, that would hold the eighth of a cord of wood ! My memory ransacks that " Chimney Corner," for tales of yore. There my studies commenced. "The art of letters," and the science of many things were touched and held at finger ends. Stories, narratives, adventures, and " hair-breadth-scapes," stirred my pleasurable new-born thoughts, " Robinson Crusoe," and the "Arabian Nights," entertained me for a season.

" O, once again, who would not be a boy ?"

In my early life, as I have already noticed, I was charmed with the beauties of nature ;

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and reading intensified this native taste. Had I enjoyed scholastic advantages, I might have made something — but no more of this. The wild and varied scenes that passed in review, expanded somewhat my mind and helped to develop imagination. The colors of beautiful flowers affected me, in reading of them, as they had in seeing them. Fancy is a help in reading. To read of a flash of lightning suddenly driving midnight darkness from an orchard white with blossoms in the month of June, will make it appear to imagination in pleasing contrast. Is not the sense of the beautiful in man a soul sense ? an indication of the spirituality of his nature? Animals do not feed on flowers. They have no interest in the "sublime and beautiful." Fragrance yields to them no pleasure. The instinctive tribes are not charmed with the fresh beauties of the morning, nor the gorgeous gold and purple in the clouds around the setting sun. What do they care for the views of mountains, rivers, lakes, and " the dark blue sea " ? The taste for such beauties is peculiar to the human soul, and their essential properties in the world

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r 9 of final bliss will not be remembered, merely, as having belonged exclusively to earth. Heaven will unfold beauties that here are typified. God, consistent with this notion, has produced these things to induce a suitable exercise of our mental, moral, and spiritual powers, leading us to think of Him, and His bright abode.

Will these natural things of beauty, which are the means, not the source, of pleasurable emotions to the souls of men, especially Christians, not be continued to the saved beyond the grave? Or will not the glorified millions meet something like them that they here and now point to on the ever-green shore ? God will surely, in all His works and ways, be consistent with Himself. By Him, there is nothing made in vain, nor ever will be.

The impressions made on the minds of children, before their consciences become indurated by resisting the spirit of God, are of vital importance. " Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." I had no Sunday-school advantages ; I heard no Christian experiences related.

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All the religion professed where I resided seemed to consist of mere opinions.

Both my father and mother were much in the habit of Bible reading, yet knew nothing of experimental religion. They were, however, uncommonly severe on all types of infidelity. My father would sometimes, with great earnestness, say: "John, you must never suffer yourself to doubt the Bible." How often I have since thought of his advice ! He would, when requested, read the Word of God at the bedside of the sick. He would say to them, in serious conversation and much solemnity, " God is gracious and very merciful." He would read prayers, but I never heard him pray orally. He was of Episcopalian persuasion ; and in his school he taught us the catechism every Saturday. He was thought to be a good schoolteacher. He had appreciation of the good and the true in morals, was always fond of poetry, and indulged in versifying at times, when in the mood. He was an Arminian in religious sentiment. My mother was a Calvinist of the most rigid kind. They both cherished a dislike to-

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ward Methodism. They held erroneous opinions concerning that great revival of " Christianity in earnest." Haters of that which is good had given false or distorted descriptions of Methodism, and they, with many others, had been deceived. Correct accounts of pure religion can be expected of Christians only.

The news of a sudden death, in the neighborhood, had a powerful influence upon me. The first corpse I ever saw made a deep impression on my mind. Something whispered within me, that death was not the final goal of thinking man ! A life was in my conscious being, I thought, that could not die ! Immortality within, echoed to the voice of the striving " Spirit of Truth !"

The love of strong drink extensively prevailed, unchecked by temperance principles publicly announced. It was customary at funerals to treat • all that attended. This, no doubt, increased the gatherings on such occasions, when almost all would partake of the intoxicating beverage ; and it was a common thing for ministers of the gospel to take a dram when visiting the sick. The Christian churches certainly have made improvement as to their social customs.

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Some of the scenes of the war of 1812, between the United States and Great Britain, are yet by me distinctly remembered. I was but nine years old, and realized the influence of u the war " upon me in two opposite ways. The slain and wounded on the battle-field, as rumor did from time to time report, and of which I read the account ; and the drafting of men, which I saw, and the " dreadful note of preparation " by uniformed soldiery, with the ominous "flag of stars and stripes,"

" E'er yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Had dimm'd the glistening bayonet,"

made me nervous and sad. And yet I delighted in military display : the measured tread of marching companies ; their uniforms, banners, plumes, and glittering steel ; their martial music of " ear-piercing-fife " and "stirring drum"; their parade-grounds of grassy green ; and the gathering multitudes of spectators of men, women and children, all arrayed in their best attire, gave me pleasurable emotions. Even the child has something in his nature that responds to the taste of "cruel war."

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The battle of New Orleans, triumphantly fought by General Andrew Jackson, on the 8th of January, 1815, was hailed with unbounded rejoicings. The peace proclaimed gave universal satisfaction. The soldiers that had survived the war, being disbanded, came home worse than they left. They were demoralized, reckless, idle and intemperate, and business was dull. It was hard to get a living. War brings in its train many evils. When will its bloody work cease ? For some time after the close of the war, it was hard getting along for poor people. One day, while I was thinking of these things, looking out from our little home on the side of the mountain, I saw a cloud in the south-west, moving rapidly to meet another cloud coming toward it. They met and twisted together in the form of a funnel. It was a tornado, of tremendous force. It broke off trees near the ground, more than a foot in diameter ; and lifted large rails high in air instantly. I saw it and thought of the greatness of God's power, in a way not easily to be forgotten.

My ambition for fame was checked while I was yet a boy. One sunny day in mid-winter* during school recess at noon, I, with a number of boys and girls, thought it good to have a pleasant sleigh-ride down a steep hill that would land us on a wide field of ice. I was the foremost one in this exciting matter, and had procured for the purpose " a one-horse sleigh." I claimed the post of danger and sat in front. The sleigh was filled to its utmost capacity. It moved along for a while gracefully, with its heart-beating load, on the smooth and frozen surface of the snow. Our course was toward the south-east, and the snow had softened near the foot of the hill, and let down our sleigh suddenly before it reached the ice. I was thrown forward and the whole party fell on me, crushing in the frontal bone over my left eye, leaving a scar that I shall carry until I "shuffle off this mortal coil." I have never since felt uncommon ambition to be at the head of adventurous enterprises. Wholesome mental impressions on the brain I have ever found preferable to crack-scull embarkations in a downward course of life ! In the year 1816, my schooling was brought to a close, my father teaching at a distance from home, and I was bound, according to my own desire, to a farmer for three years, to work for my clothes and board. I was shown my bed-room, where I found an antiquated chest for my use. When I raised the lid, while disposing of my wardrobe in proper order, I discovered some silver change, lying loosely in it. I took it out and gave it to the farmer's wife. A short time after my father came to see me ; and I overheard him and the farmer in conversation about me. The farmer informed him that I had been tried, and was found honest. Was it not an imprudent thing to place a temptation before a boy ? Some dishonest person might have taken that money, and my character would have been stained.

I " endured hardness " during my stay with the farmer — working in the winter, sometimes in the woods a distance from home, chopping wood. I wore no flannel under-garments, and stayed out all day, and my fare was rye bread and pork and beef ; my toil was hard. I do not speak of this with feelings of regret. My early

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rising, plain diet and exercise made me more strong in bone and muscle, if not in brain. My clothing was all of home-made stuff. I earned and was paid three shillings for over-work, and kept it two years before it was all spent.

In my fourteenth year I first saw the city of New York, accompanying the farmer's son, with a wagon-load of poultry seeking a market. New York, sixty years ago, was a small town to what it is now. A dense cloud of smoke hung over it from the burning of pine wood. This was the only fuel used, and its odor spread for miles around. " Greenwich street " was then the nearest street to the North River. Jersey City (called then Paulus' Hook) did not seem to contain more than a score of houses. Many acres of the meadows between Newark and New York were covered with a dense growth of cedar ; it was called the " Cedar Swamp" This ride from home and back w r as to me a great treat ; and having seen New York, I had it to think and talk about. It was a novel enterprise, as much so as the circumnavigation of the globe to some.

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Things often occur during our childhood which aptly illustrate circumstances that take place with us in riper years. I have often thought of an event that transpired when I was a boy, showing some points in the common course of men in their journey through life. It was part of my work to attend to the cattle. During the summer season the cows were driven every morning to the woods to browse, some considerable distance from home. It fell to my charge to go after them every evening. One sultry afternoon, I started for the cows quite early, but dallied and sauntered along the way — unlike my usual habit — until it began to be late in the day. The singing of the birds, the echoings of various noises among the rocks, and the romantic scenery, beguiled the hours away, and I was forgetful of the flight of time. At length I reached the open place where often before the cows had been found. It was a secluded spot of a few acres, where once a house had been. The remains of the foundation and walls, with decayed timber, were yet visible. The " Shay Place," it was reported, was haunted.

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Not within sight or sound of civilization, it was a lonely spot ; and that the superstitious should regard it as a place to see "sights" and hear "noises," was not to be wondered at. I had passed the gloomy place where, according to the memory of old people, two soldiers of the revolutionary war, having died of the smallpox, were buried. And I had to pass their graves again on that doleful night going home. The sun had gone down behind a dark cloud, in which slept the lightning. I began to be in a gloomy mood. In my solitude I listened to hear the familiar bell of the leading cow, but, to my ear, no

The cows had all gone home, and I was left alone in the woods. A thunder-storm was coming on, giving warning of its approach in muttering sounds, that were "deep and dread." With fearful apprehensions, I was making the best of my way for home. " Darkling, I wander'd with prophetic dread," through the almost pathless forest. The thunder-peals increased, in

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2 9 loudness, until they were awful. " The mighty thunderings " constituted the bass to the roar of the storm that night, and the lightning's glare was terrifying in the extreme. I walked on with a forlorn hope. Without a path to guide me, I wandered, not knowing where I should fetch up. I was wet to the skin by the drenching rain, and my only light was the lightning's vivid flash, to be succeeded by a greater darkness. After walking in this way over rocks and through briers, disagreeable, dangerous and lonely places, at length the lightning revealed to me the old haunted place of departure ! I had gone round in a rambling way until I arrived as far from home as when I started for it. I again set out, hoping that God would be my guide. The storm subsided, and, listening for the bell, I heard the sound of the "family horn'* I knew the sharp sound of that horn, and believed it was blown on my behalf. I walked on with redoubled perseverance, although hungry and wet, carefully following the direction of the sound of the familiar horn, and gladly, after a while, emerged from the woods. I saw the

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road, the river, and the bridge. I saw the " orchard, the meadow," and the path through it to the dear old home. I walked along, and there was the barn, the well '-sweep, and the garden f My home came in view, and the family-group came about me, and I was welcomed by kind and loving friends. Exchange of raiment, and a relished supper, made me happy. I had, as it were, " beauty for ashes, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."